November 2nd, 1692. Salem, Massachusetts

My hands are trembling. My plan has worked! I proposed my idea to Judge Hathorne when he came to the jail on Halloween. They took me out of my cell and brought me to him to be questioned and examined, just like they have been doing once a month since each person came to be imprisoned.

Naturally, the topic of my pregnancy came up. The judge made some nasty comment about how what a complete shame it would be that my child would become an orphan almost immediately after birth.

I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from spitting in his face. Instead, I said he would not have to be an orphan. And then I told Judge Hathorne my idea. He looked at me as if I were positively insane-well, more insane than he had already believed me to be. He honestly looked repulsed by the thought.

"Do you know how that would look?" he asked me. "Taking a tricky, evil, and disgusting witch into my home?" Each word that came out of his mouth came out in a tone of repulsion.

I did know how it would look, of course. The town would talk. Rumors would spread. But nothing was worse than the rumors that already had spread about me. Nothing was worse than being sentenced to death. So I persuaded Judge Hathorne by reminding him that no one necessarily had to know. I would not have to leave the house all that often and in the times that I did have to go into town, I could wear a disguise.

"Of course-disguises would be easy for a witch, would they not?" he asked.

They were, of course, but I did not tell him that. Instead, I told him that disguises could be fairly easy for anyone. I reminded him that he needed someone else to help him at his home-even though it pained me to say it. I reminded him that I didn't always have to go into town-at most it would be once a week. And I could cut my hair, wear a hooded cloak-anything that would stop people from noticing me.

Eventually, he told me he would consider it and he sent me back to my cell. I waited anxiously for an entire day. An entire day of agonizingly waiting for his decision. And then late last night, a guard came in with a message for me. Hathorne had agreed with my proposition. I would become his servant in exchange for pardoning me from being executed. But I could never let anyone know. As far as the other townsfolk were concerned, I was to be executed shortly after the birth of my child. If I were ever to go out in town afterwards, I would be in disguise, which was fine with me. Most of my friends sadly will not be making it through this, and most of the people remaining will be afraid to even glance my way.

I am not looking forward to becoming a servant of all things for a man I positively loathe, but it is the only way. Some may say it is selfish. The life my son and I will be living from now on will not necessarily be a good one. No doubt Judge Hathorne will not always be kind to us-if he is even kind at all. But it is better than being dead. Any life at all is better than no life. And I hope that by doing this, I'll be giving my son and I a chance. Perhaps one day, we'll manage to find a way out of servitude as well. Perhaps one day, we'll make it on our own. Perhaps one day, we'll be able to start over. I am not sure if this is possible, but I know for sure it will not be if I am dead.

My son is the only thing left to live for. And it is the most important thing of all to live for. So, despite what I have agreed to do, the fact that it worked and that I have kept myself alive and prevented my child from being orphaned is a small victory in my eyes. And oddly, that keeps me hopeful for more victories to come.

"Has it crossed your mind yet," Fred began, "that the Judge that Elizabeth agreed to work for has a last name similar to the name of this hotel?" He was lying across the foot of my bed, holding the diary directly above his face.

Not long after we'd gone into our hotel rooms, the twins had discovered the two rooms were connected by a door. They'd waited almost exactly the fifteen minutes we'd agreed upon before they were knocking at the connecting door, putting an end to the short amount of peace and quiet Rachel and I had gotten as we tried to settle in.

And now, we were all catching up on the events of Elizabeth's diary.

"I did think of that," I said from where I was sitting at the head of my bed. I bent my knees and rested my chin on them with a sigh. I looked around at everyone in the room. "It's connected. Have any of you heard of the author Nathanial Hawthorne?"

"No," all three of them responded together.

I smiled and shook my head. "I didn't think so. Anyway, Nathanial was related to Judge Hathorne, but he apparently hated the man so much that he changed his last name. He added a W to make his name Hawthorne instead of Hathorne. And this hotel was named after Nathanial."

"Interesting," Fred said slowly.

"He was born here," I added. "In Salem."

"Nathanial Hawthorne?" Fred asked, turning his head to look at me.

I nodded. "The house he was born in is here-right next to the House of the Seven Gables-he wrote a book with that title. Both houses are pretty popular."

"Let me guess, you've never been to those houses either?" Fred asked with a smirk. "Being a local and all that?"

"And considering her circumstances," George whispered, nudging Fred, who actually turned pink. "She only said that about an hour ago when we were talking about the museum, remember?"

"Sorry," Fred said.

I shook my head. "Actually, I have been there. It was the one place Eric brought me. The houses are right next to each other, and all three of us went-me, Eric and Andrea. Shortly after I arrived to live with them. It was Eric's idea which was so odd considering right from the start he never bothered to try with me. He never bothered to try to be friendly or make me comfortable. It was always Andrea."

"Then why did he do it?" George asked. "Why did he bring you there? Is there something special about those houses?"

I shrugged. "He was a big fan of Nathanial Hawthorne. He had probably every single one of his books. Knew all about him."

"But even still-why would he bring you and Andrea? Why would he bother?" Fred asked. "That's a little odd, don't you think? Maybe it's some sort of a clue."

I shrugged again. "I don't know. How am I supposed to know how he operates? I've been trying to steer clear of him since the day I met him. Until now, when I actually want him to come after me." I sighed and ran a hand through my hair.

Fred rolled over onto his side and reached out to put a hand on my knee. "Hey," he whispered, causing me to look up at him. "It's going to be okay," he said. "Like I told you earlier, I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

I swallowed thickly and nodded, reaching out to put my hand on top of Fred's. "I appreciate that, but I worry it's not a promise you can keep, no matter how much you intend to try."

"Why would you say that?" Fred asked, his brow furrowing in concern.

"You don't know Eric like I do," I whispered. "He won't hesitate to, at best, manipulate you, and at the worst, kill you in order to get you out of the way."

"Then he's going to have to kill me," Fred said. "I'm not letting him hurt you."

"I don't want you to die for me, Fred. Your family can't lose you. Especially not after everything you've all been through. And after you've been fighting to get your life back. I can't let it be taken all away."

"But we also can't lose you," he answered. "You're worth every minute of this, Sophie. Believe me."

I looked up and met his eyes as he gave me a reassuring smile and I stared at him, unsure just how to articulate to him what I was feeling. Immense gratitude for one. But still a good amount of fear, despite his reassurances. And then there was the matter of my feelings for him and the fact that I believed he was still in love with Angelina, which only complicated the jumble of emotions swirling inside me even more.

"You don't have to say anything," Fred said with a smile, seeming to notice my struggle. "Just this once, I won't pressure you to talk."

I let out a breath of laughter. "Thanks, you're too kind."

"Aren't I?" Fred asked, giving my knee a light shove as he grinned at me.

I blushed and looked away, happening to make eye contact with Rachel as I did so. She was giving me a knowing look and wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. I shot her a look of annoyance in return and refrained from pushing her right off the bed.

"So...about the elephant in the room," I said, looking hesitantly up at Fred.

We had left the hotel again by now and we were walking down Essex Street, one of the main streets in Salem. Fred and I were walking side by side while Rachel and George wandered a little bit ahead of us, peering into store windows every so often and glancing back at Fred and I even more often.

"What elephant?" Fred asked with a grin. He looked around us in exaggeration and then even looked up at the sky. "And what room?"

I giggled. "You know what I meant," I said. "We got into a huge fight, we didn't talk for a few days, I tried to apologize to you, I wasn't sure it went all that well and now you're here in Salem with me. I just...want to know what you're thinking, I guess."

"I accepted your apology the second you said it," Fred shrugged. "If that's what you're asking."

"Sort of," I said. "That's good to know, but what was with the your move comment? You didn't sound like you'd forgiven me when you said it."

Fred shrugged again. "I knew it would make you mad. I knew it would probably get you to face your past, even if it was out of anger. It worked for me. I wanted to push you like you'd pushed me, but it didn't mean I hadn't forgiven you. You were right about me and it hurt because it was true."

"Yeah, that's how I felt too," I sighed, pausing to look in the window of a nearby bookstore. "That's why I always got so defensive. And then I just got angry." I sighed as I turned away from the bookshop and kept walking, glancing over my shoulder at Fred. "I heard you and Angelina talking by the pond, actually."

Fred looked at me in surprise before jogging a bit to catch up with me. "You did?"

I nodded. "Most of the conversation anyway. I heard you tell her how you felt about losing her to Oliver. And her say that she couldn't exactly help it." I shrugged. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, by the way. I was heading out to the pond to sit there myself, but you two were already there."

"What else did you hear?" Fred asked quietly, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down at his feet. I could've sworn his ears even turned red.

"That's pretty much it," I said. "But I mean, I did figure out it means you still have feelings for her and-and you don't have to be upset about that. Getting over someone isn't easy, so you don't have to look so uncomfortable-"

"Wait, what?" Fred asked. Now it was him that had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. People continued to move around and past us, some giving us looks at the fact that we stopped in the middle of the fairly crowded walkway, but I didn't care.

"You told her that all the times you'd be rude or curt or mean to her it was because you were still trying to process everything and move on. You were behaving that way up until inviting her to the Burrow and even then, that only happened because you were upset with me. And, Fred, it's okay. You can feel upset as long as you need. Feelings are...complicated and some things can't be rushed. I don't know if that's just been our problem this whole time-trying to rush each other to move on and heal from things that can't heal quickly. I mean, you ran off to talk to her after I brought it up and made you angry. It may have worked out for you, which is great, but when I got angry about my past, I was ready to run back here to Salem with absolutely no plan. I rushed into it. Even now our plan isn't that great. But the thing is that even if we accomplish what we came here to do, it's not going to change or erase how-how messed up my past has made me."

"You're not messed up," Fred whispered, taking a step closer to me.

"Fred, come on. I am. And it is what it is."

"You're not like you were when I first met you," he said. "Even Tom and Martha say you've gotten better."

I nodded. "And they're right. You're right. But it takes time. And I'm not going to ever forget all that's happened to me. And the skin on my back is also always going to be scarred. Time heals most things, but that doesn't mean there won't be scarring."

"Soph, you didn't hear all of what I was saying to Angelina at the Burrow," Fred said. "There was more to it. I-"

"It's okay, we don't need to talk about it anymore." I shook my head and turned to continue walking. The last thing I needed was to have a conversation with Fred himself about his relationship with Angelina. Even if she was with Oliver for good now and had no interest of going back to Fred, I didn't particularly want to hear him give me the details of the rest of their conversation-I had walked away from it for a reason.

"Sophie," Fred said, catching up to me again. "Just listen. The reason I was really able to talk to Angelina wasn't spite. It started that way-it was the reason I invited her to the Burrow, but actually talking to her was easier to do now because I've actually—"

"Oi, are you two going to be this slow all day?"

I looked up to see George and Rachel fighting backwards through the crowd towards us.

"We turned around and couldn't even see you anymore!" Rachel exclaimed.

"Besides, we were just aimlessly walking," George said. "We have no idea where we should even be going. It's Sophie's job to show us, but she's clearly too busy to care if the two of us wandered off." He looked at Rachel and shook his head as he sighed dramatically.

"Please," Rachel said. "I'm more than capable of taking charge and paying attention. It's you that needs supervision."

As they were talking, I could feel Fred's eyes still on me, so naturally I looked anywhere but at him. My eyes wandered over to a pathway to our left and I smiled slightly. "Come on. I know where to go."

I squeezed past Rachel and George and started down the pathway. It was a brick pathway lined with bushes, and every so often a bench, and it sat between one of the Essex Street shops and a museum. It didn't take very long to reach the end of the path and it only led us to the next street over. Once we were there, I took a right, and then shortly after that a left, walking down another pathway, narrower than the first, that ran beside an old, historical looking house. Just behind the house, I came to a stop, taking a deep breath as I took in one of the sites of Salem that I'd gone to many times, not knowing just how entwined I'd one day become with the history of the witch trials-one woman's story in particular.

It was fairly crowded here, but I knew the crowds would only get worse the closer we got to Halloween. Right now, it was actually pretty manageable and we had a fairly clear view of what I'd brought the others to see.

I had stopped with the toes of my shoes stopping just at the edge of a line of wide, grey stones lying flat in the ground, almost like a threshold. It separated the path I was standing on from a dirt pathway that formed a rectangular shape around a patch of grass, sprinkled with a few trees. The outer edge of the dirt path was lined by a low stone wall. A small, old cemetery took up the space beyond the left side of the wall as well as the far side. The old house we'd passed stood just past the right side of the wall. And the end where I was now standing was the only end without a wall. It was open except for the flat stones in the ground. But the most important aspect of where we were now standing were the large granite rectangles jutting out at even intervals along the inside of the stone wall. Each slab of granite was engraved with a name and a date. There were twenty of them. One for each victim of the witch trials.

"Sophie, where are we?" George asked. His voice was low, despite the hum of voices from the other people who were here. It was as if he'd picked up on the solemnness that this little section of Salem had stemmed from and was afraid to talk at a normal volume. I knew how he felt. I always felt the same way whenever I'd come here.

"The Salem Witch Trials Memorial," I answered, keeping my gaze straight ahead and surveying each and every granite piece sticking out from the wall. Twenty of them. I knew there were familiar names here. Names I'd heard in my childhood, looked at on these stones, names that then grew hazy as I grew older and ventured around Salem less and less. Names that had become familiar again after reading the diary. Names that suddenly meant more to me than ever.

I was jolted out of my thoughts by Fred moving to stand beside me, looking down at the line of flat stones at my feet. Each one of these stones had an engraving as well.

"'God knows I am innocent'," Fred read out loud, his voice just as quiet as George's. He tilted his head to the side as he moved on to the next inscription. "'Oh Lord help me'."

Rachel came to stand on my other side, gazing down at the inscriptions as well. "'I am wholly innocent of such wickedness'," she recited before pausing and reading the next one. "'On my dying day, I am no witch'."

"'If I would confess, I should save my life'," George chimed in from Fred's other side.

"'I do not plead guilty'," Fred continued.

I took in a shaky breath before I read the final inscription, the words engraved at my own feet. My voice came out a whisper, barely audible to my own ears, but I knew Rachel and the twins heard it. "'For my life now lies in your hands'."

The four of us were silent for a moment, taking in what we'd just read.

"Are these-?" Fred began.

"Protests from the victims," I said. "Directly from the court records."

Fred let out a low whistle and ran a hand over his jaw. "Wow," he whispered.

I looked up and gazed back at the rest of the memorial. "Each bit of granite sticking out from the wall is etched with a victim's name and the date they were hanged," I said. "I haven't been here in years. I used to like coming here as a kid. It always felt a little eerie, but also peaceful at the same time. But now after reading Elizabeth's diary, and knowing now that I'm related to her...it's-"

"Even more eerie?" Fred suggested. "Odd? Strange? Difficult?"

"All of the above," I answered, taking in a deep breath and slowly letting it out.

"Yeah, it feels eerie and strange to me as well," he said. "I've become so invested in Elizabeth's story. And even though I knew the whole thing was about real people--I don't know...This place almost solidifies the reality of it all. You know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I think I do," I said quietly.

Fred held out his hand to me, his fingers spread apart. "You want to go take a look?"

I looked down at his hand for a moment before nodding and lacing my fingers through his, squeezing his hand tight. "Yeah."

Together, we started on the left side of the memorial and began making our way around, pausing at each piece of engraved stone we passed. Bridget Bishop, Susannah Martin, Rebecca Nurse...

Many of the protruding stones had flowers laying across them, left behind from visitors to the memorial. Some flowers were still looking fairly fresh and others were dead or dying. But the sentiment was still there all the same.

Fred and I kept walking and a second later the two of us stopped as we came upon one of the stones towards the middle of the line.

"Sarah Good," Fred read. "Hanged July 19th, 1692."

A single flower was resting across the top of the stone, a bright orange one. It had clearly been there for a little while, but it wasn't quite dead yet. I tilted my head to the side as I stared down at the name and date etched into the granite. "I'm fairly certain her daughter made it out alive," I said suddenly. "I expect we'll be finding out soon with the diary, but from what I remember...I just wish Sarah could've made it too."

"Yeah, so do I," Fred answered. We were quiet for a moment before he reached down and pulled up two small, thin weeds growing in the dirt under Sarah's stone. They were the only two there and I didn't know how Fred had noticed them. Or, more importantly, why he'd pulled them up. At least not until he took a quick glance around, sneakily pulled out his wand, and transfigured the weeds into two purple flowers. Wordlessly, he set one down on Sarah's stone, right next to the orange one. He handed the second one to me and the moment he did, I knew just where I was going to put it. I think Fred did too and that's why he'd given it to me.

The two of us kept moving until we reached the end of that left-hand wall. The very last stone on that side, not far from Sarah Good's, was John Proctor's. There were a few flowers lying across his stone already. I crouched down and slowly reached out to place my own deep purple flower on the stone before tracing my finger over the engraved letters of the name Proctor.

"Are you okay?" Fred asked.

"Yeah," I said. "I'm fine. Just thinking."

A moment later, I stood up and dusted off my hands, still gazing down at the stone.

"You're sure you're okay?" Fred asked quietly.

I nodded. "It's just...strange, you know?"

"Yeah. I mean-I can imagine," he responded.

"He didn't deserve this," I whispered, surprised when I felt tears coming to my eyes. "None of these people did. It's just so unfair."

"I know," Fred said, his voice just as quiet as mine. I felt his hand slide into mine again, our fingers intertwining. "I know."

"This all happened three hundred years ago," I said. "And it still seems like people can't stop judging others. These people died because of Muggles hating witches. And on the other hand, all these years later, your brother, as well as so many others died because people were power hungry and hated Muggles. It's just so...ridiculous!"

"That's one word for it," Fred muttered. "I have a few others, but they're a little more, well, bold."

I let out a snort of laughter. "I'm sure they are."

I leaned into him as we stood there for a few seconds more. I finally let my eyes drift up from John Proctor's stone and gaze into the cemetery on the other side of the wall. And my heart stopped for a split second as my eyes landed on a woman standing in the middle of the small burial ground. The Mystery Woman. I gasped slightly and blinked, but when I opened my eyes, she was gone.

"What's wrong?" Fred asked as I rapidly looked back and forth and even turned to look behind us. The memorial area as well as the cemetery was a fairly small space. There were a decent amount of people here, but it was nowhere near as crowded as I knew it could and would get, the closer we got to Halloween. But despite the fair amount of people, I didn't think it was possible for me to lose sight of the Mystery Woman so quickly. Unless, of course she'd Apparated. But in broad daylight in the middle of all these Muggles? Would she really risk it? Not that anyone would have really noticed anyway. Everyone was preoccupied with the little section of history we were standing in.

"Sophie?" George was at my side now with Rachel. They were both looking at me in concern.

"The Mystery Woman," I gasped, turning to look up at Fred, whose mouth dropped open. "She was here. Over there." I pointed into the cemetery. "You didn't see her? None of you saw her?" I looked at George and Rachel almost desperately.

"No," Fred said, his voice sounding a little apologetic. "I wasn't paying attention to the cemetery."

I swallowed and looked back over the wall at the cemetery again before pulling away from Fred and heading for the cemetery entrance as quickly as possible. I squeezed past a man and a woman who were just leaving and jogged over to where the Mystery Woman had been standing, turning in a circle, hardly daring to believe she'd been here, but also hardly daring to believe she was now gone. Just like that.

"Hey, Soph, just calm down for a second." Fred, George and Rachel had caught up to me, looking slightly alarmed.

"She was here," I said, my voice shaking. "And if she's here, it could mean Eric's here." I wrapped my arms around myself and tried to calm myself down. I felt as if I were trembling from head to toe.

"Well," George said slowly, "as terrifying as I know that is for you, having him here is sort of what we were hoping would happen."

"And we don't even know he's here," Fred added. "We didn't see him."

"But if she found me, so can he," I whispered.

"Soph?" Rachel said.

I looked up to see her standing not too far away, staring thoughtfully at one of the graves nearby. "Look at this."

I shared a look with the twins before going to stand by Rachel's side and looking at the name on the grave she was staring at. My mouth dropped open as I did and I also heard Fred and George let out quiet curse words.

"John Hathorne," I said with a bitter laugh, reading the words on the small, old gravestone in front of me. "Unbelievable. He's right here...buried right next to the memorial."

"How utterly ironic," George commented.

"I wonder if she wanted me to see this," I muttered thoughtfully. "I wonder if it's a clue."

"You think this woman you think you saw wanted you to see this gravestone?" Rachel asked, raising her eyebrows.

"I saw her," I answered stonily, my eyes still scanning the grave. "She was here."

"But Soph," Fred said. "She has a habit of running away and disappearing anyway. She was already doing a lot of that. So why would now be any different? Why would standing here be a clue now?"

"Well, for one thing, because we're here," I said, turning to him. "In Salem. It's where Eric wanted me to be and she said I had to figure out what he wants with me and also get him out of the picture before she tells me anything. She's afraid of him and she's afraid to give me any information while he's still around. I don't know how she knows him, but in order to find out, we've got to figure Eric out. And where better to do that than here? It's not only where I'm from, but where he's from, too."

"Okay, but that doesn't mean every little thing is a clue," George argued.

"Why shouldn't it be? This lady loves to do things without speaking to me. She's afraid, like I said. She slipped me the diary, the necklace and the postcard without saying a word. All this time, she's been helping me without saying anything directly."

"Okay," Fred said slowly, letting a puff of air out of his mouth. "Say this grave is a clue. What does it mean?"

"That's what we have to figure out," I told him impatiently.

It was quiet for a bit as the others processed my theory. I knew it sounded insane, but to me it made perfect sense.

"Should our next visit be to Nathanial Hawthorne's birthplace, then?" Fred asked. "You said Nathanial Hawthorne was a relative of this jerk." He tilted his head towards the headstone.

I nodded. "Yeah, might as well. Who knows, maybe something they tell us might make everything suddenly click."

"I'm not sure it'll be that easy," Fred said with a smile, "but we can certainly hope."

It was not that easy, no matter how much I hoped for it to be. Visiting the birthplace of Nathanial Hawthorne left us in basically the same place we'd been before we'd gone. We were just a little more knowledgeable about the writer and his work by the time we left. They mentioned Nathanial's relationship to John, but didn't talk much about John himself. I didn't know what else I'd expected. The museum was centered around Nathanial anyway.

"This whole trip was useless, wasn't it?" I sighed, sitting down on a bench outside the museum.

"I wouldn't say that," Fred said, sitting next to me and shrugging. "Besides, you can't expect everything to fall together immediately after getting here. Things don't happen that fast."

"Yeah, I guess."

"You're just used to always being on the run," Fred pointed out. "Always moving. You can't stand being this restless."

He was right, of course. I hated it. Besides, I was just overall anxious about being here. I wanted to do what we'd come here to do and be done with it. I was impatient and frustrated with just about everything at this point.

"What's there to do for fun around here?" Rachel suddenly asked, looking around as Fred, George and I looked up at her in surprise. "What?" she asked, noticing our expressions. "We've hit a dead end. And like Fred said, things aren't going to fall together right away. Maybe by not thinking about things, an answer will come to us. Besides, I did not come all the way here to not have any actual fun."

"You mean you weren't having fun already?" George asked wryly.

Rachel scoffed and rolled her eyes before glancing at me. "No offense."

"None taken," I answered in slight amusement. "I'm not exactly having the time of my life either."

"Well then maybe we should try to fix that," Fred said, standing up and holding out his hands to me. I grabbed them and let him pull me to my feet.

"I'm not sure that's possible," I said.

"If one idiotic bloke can make you almost despise the place you came from," Fred began, "surely three of your friends can make you love it again."

"I don't know if we even have time for this," I said. "I just want-"

"You want it all to be over and to put it behind you," Fred interrupted. "I know. But if you keep trying to put your whole life behind you without enjoying what you can, then one day it is all over." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Sometimes sooner than we expect."

I looked up at him and studied his face before swallowing and nodding. "Okay," I said. "You're right."

Fred grinned. "So what do you say we take our minds off of everything going on for a bit and just enjoy ourselves, huh?"

I hesitated for a moment, giving Fred another unsure look.

Fred chuckled and put his hands on my shoulders. "Sophie," he said, "you're going to drive yourself absolutely mad over this if you let it consume every moment of your life."

"I don't think I have a choice," I whispered. "It is my life."

"Not anymore. We're making sure of that." He reached down and took my hand, threading his fingers through mine. "Come on," he said, tugging me forward. "Let's go have some fun."

I half-smiled and I wasn't sure if I was surprised or not at the fact that I willingly agreed and began to follow him.